The Dreg Trilogy Omnibus

by Bethany Hoeflich

  “Olielle, you look positively ravishing!”

  A faint blush spread across her cheeks, and she tucked a strand of long, auburn hair behind her ear. “Won’t you come in, my lord?”

  “With pleasure.” Silvano moved to go inside, then turned around to address Mikkal, as if he were an afterthought. “I’ll be back at dawn, then we’ll embark on a glorious adventure!”

  Exile was considered a glorious adventure now? Mikkal shook his head. No, it was his duty to protect the prince. He needed to stay.

  “Let me remind you that Lucan tried to assassinate my father, not me. Furthermore, I highly doubt that my betrothed has any nefarious designs on my life. I am perfectly safe here. Now, leave me. Go and visit your sister if you must have something with which to occupy your time.” At Mikkal’s defiant look, his face hardened, and his voice grew deeper. “That is a command.”

  With that, the door closed soundly in Mikkal’s face.

  With a heavy heart, he turned and walked to the sloping cliffs that plummeted to a rocky shore below. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, and his charge was in danger. Regardless of his intuition, a patron’s word was law, and Silvano would do whatever he pleased, no matter the consequences. Mikkal couldn’t disobey a command.

  He sat down on the cliff, allowing his feet to dangle off the side, and took a deep breath of the salty air. The sun slipped below the horizon, casting a dying orange glow over the waves. He would miss this. Since taking his vows as a Shield all those years ago, East Rock had been his home. Having to start over as a wanderer sent a pang of homesickness through his chest. How would his sister survive without him?

  At least his patron’s recklessness gave him the chance to say goodbye. With one last look at the sea, Mikkal jumped to his feet and dusted his trousers before heading toward the seedier section of town.

  Located at the southern edge of Crystalmoor, East Rock hugged the sea like a clingy child. The castle, made of speckled diorite, sat at the peak of the cliff. Elegant mansions made of marble surrounded the castle as well as any wall. The market came next, followed by homes for the commoners. At the far edges were houses that barely looked like houses at all. Made of straw and clay, they had little chance of surviving the next storm.

  The darkening sky, combined with a pervasive silence, cast an eerie stillness over the slum. The hairs on his neck stood on end, and Mikkal placed a hand on the hilt of his sword. A bare road stretched out before him, and no figures could be seen lurking in the shadows. Still, years of experience forbade him from letting his guard down. If anyone was stupid enough to attack him, he would remind them why he’d been chosen as the prince’s Shield.

  Mikkal chanced a quick glance behind him. Nothing.

  He turned the corner and stumbled over a disturbingly squishy lump on the road. Almost afraid of what he would see, Mikkal looked down. A broken body lay sprawled across the muddy road, the limbs splayed at awkward angles. The words dreg scum were carved into his forehead.

  His hands balled into fists as he glared up at the castle. From up there, it was easy to miss the suffering of the people. To hide behind closed gates and pretend that all was well. Silvano, naive as he was, might believe that his title as heir would protect him from this violence, but Mikkal knew the truth. No dreg was safe, not even a prince.

  The Order had been growing in influence over the past few years, gradually changing public opinion where it came to dregs. Unless the Meistryri did something to quell their surge of power, more dregs would fall victim to this fanaticism. Exiling his son did nothing to solve the root of the issue.

  With a sigh, Mikkal gently moved the body to the side of the road, sending a quick prayer to the gods that his soul would find peace in his next life. If any of them still cared. While some sects still followed the old ways, most had forgotten the gods, betraying their heritage and choosing to follow the teachings of the Order instead. He placed a coin between the man’s teeth— payment for his next body— and continued down the road.

  Michelle’s house sat nestled between two others. Two years had passed since the tragic accident at sea that had claimed her husband. With little income of her own, Michelle had sold their family estate, moving to a shack in the slums with her daughter, Mikaela. He gave them all the money he earned, often going without food as a result, but it still wasn’t enough, especially with a mound of Healer’s bills gathering at their door.

  Hoping they would still be awake, he opened the door quietly, then ducked inside the one-bedroom shack. The brightly-colored scraps of fabric Michelle had hung on the walls did little to improve the dour interior. A dirt floor stretched out before him and a small, clay oven took up the corner. His niece slept in a straw pallet along the far wall, and his sister knelt by a bucket, washing dishes. Raven black hair tumbled in waves to her waist.

  Seizing the opportunity, Mikkal crept behind her and rapped his knuckles on the wall by her head.

  With a shriek, Michelle leapt to her feet and spun around, her wet hands flinging water droplets everywhere. “Mikkal, you squid-brain!” She smacked him upside the head before planting her hands on her hips. “You scared me half to death!”

  He tried to stifle a grin and failed.

  “Oh, you think it’s funny? Shouldn’t you be preparing for your trip, or at least guarding your patron?”

  He shrugged and rolled his eyes. There’s a lot of things they should be doing, but convincing Silvano to take the world seriously was about as easy as training a whale to fly.

  “Ah, he had other plans then? Figures. Well, it’s a good thing you stopped by. Mikaela would never have forgiven you if you had slipped off like a Talos pirate in the night.”

  Mikkal placed a hand on her arm and stared into her eyes, tilting his head toward the pallet where Mikaela lay sleeping. He wanted to ask how she was doing, but his vow prevented him from speaking a word. His sister understood, all the same.

  Creases formed between her brows and at the corners of her eyes. She grabbed his sleeve and pulled him further away from the sleeping area. She whispered, “The Healer said the growth in her brain is getting bigger. She can’t even use her Gift anymore. I . . .” Her breath caught in her throat. “I’ve given all the coin I can spare to the Healer, but she said that unless I could pay a whole team of Healers . . .”

  Tears sprang unbidden to his eyes. He turned to the wall, drawing a shuddering breath as he raked his fingers through his long hair and pulled it back from his face. How could he leave them? His sister and his niece needed him now, more than ever, but he was bound to the prince for life. Stronger than country, deeper than blood, more powerful than love— the oath he gave when he swore himself as the prince’s Shield. Nothing could break it, except death.

  Michelle rested her head on his shoulder, and when she spoke, her voice was hoarse. “You tried your best to help us. No one could have done more.”

  He shook his head. No. He couldn’t accept that. There must have been something else he could have done. Anything.

  “Uncle Mikkal?” a weak voice asked.

  He turned, wiping his eyes. She was trying to sit up in bed, her arms struggling to find purchase. When had she gotten so weak? He rushed over, looping an arm behind her back and gently lifting her to a seated position. She was an exact copy of her mother, right down to the freckles that splashed across her nose. If it weren’t for the weakness in her body, she would pass as a normal, healthy girl.

  Mikaela raised a shaking hand to his face and frowned when her fingers came back wet. “Why are you crying? Are you sad that you have to go away?”

  He plastered on a smile, hoping it didn’t look like a grimace, and nodded his head.

  “Please don’t cry. Mommy says that you have an important job to do, but you won’t be gone forever. You’ll come home and live with us again soon, right uncle Mikkal?”

  Michelle shot him a look that said, ‘just tell her what she needs to hear.’

  Keeping the smile, he no
dded, taking a moment to memorize every inch of her face. The little scar by her eye from when she’d tumbled on the shore. The way her green eyes sparkled, despite her sickness. The slight pout to her pink lips. Then he pulled her into a gentle embrace and pressed a kiss to her forehead. A single tear dripped onto her hair.

  Unable to contain his emotions any longer, Mikkal rushed out of the house and darted into the wilderness beyond so no one would watch him fall apart. He dropped to his knees as sobs wracked his body.

  “I’ve always found it curious how the males of our species are supposed to keep their emotions in check, yet it is always the males who break first.”

  Mikkal’s head snapped up. He jumped to his feet, sinking into a sweeping bow before his ruler, who watched impassively.

  It would be impossible to confuse the Miestryri with anyone else, despite him wearing plain clothes that would paint him as a commoner from a distance. He towered over Mikkal by at least a head, and his face wore the strain of an entire kingdom. Embedded in the center of his forehead was an oval-shaped bit of polished sea glass that proclaimed him their ruler as well as any crown. “You must care for your niece very much.”

  He shot the leader a baffled look. How did he know about Mikaela?

  “My spies tell me it would take a team of six Healers to remove the growth. They say that unless it’s removed, she will die. Unfortunate business. She is an Irrigo, correct?”

  Mikkal nodded and crossed his arms over his chest, not liking where this conversation was going. Why would the Miestryri care about a single child?

  “Hmm.” The Miestryri ran a finger over his bottom lip, eying Mikkal speculatively. “Tell me, Mikkal, would it be so bad if Silvano were to, say, have an unfortunate accident during your exile? An accident from which recovery is impossible, I should add. Perhaps one that involves a swift stroke of your sword?”

  Mikkal glowered at his ruler. What he suggested was a violation of his vows. If he betrayed his patron like this, he would be executed as an oath breaker, and his family would be cursed for all time. He shook his head and turned to leave, disgusted. The Miestryri’s next words froze him in place.

  “I should have known better to rely on Lucan to poison my son. The man couldn’t tell the difference between a shark and seaweed if it bit him in the face. No, the universe has ways of ruining even the most carefully laid plans and I can no longer afford to leave this to chance.”

  Silvano was the target? Mikkal’s eyes widened and he took a step back, fighting the urge to sprint to the mansions and drag Silvano to safety. If what the Meistryri said was true, his life was in immediate danger. Not from an assassin, but from his own father.

  “I propose a deal. I assure you, it’s fair. Once you cross the border out of Crystalmoor, you will end my son’s life. In exchange, I will cover all the costs of your niece’s healing.” He tossed a small bag to Mikkal, who caught it on reflex. “There are twelve gold coins in there, enough to cover the expenses of the Healing, as well as care for your family in your absence. Count them if you wish. In addition, I will move your sister and niece out of the slums and back into the inner ring.”

  Hearing the jangle of money, Mikkal opened the bag, his jaw dropping when he saw a glint of gold in the pale moonlight. It was more money that he had seen in his entire life. More than enough to keep them fed for years. But could he kill his patron? A man he thought of as a brother?

  “Don’t overthink this, Mikkal. It’s the right thing to do, and I believe you know this. The Order has grown too powerful in recent years. I’m a pragmatic sort of man, and I know the people would never accept a dreg as Miestryri now. Arianna will make a far better heir and future ruler of Crystalmoor.” The Miestryri stalked closer, his hard eyes flashing. “Will you do this for me? If not, I can find other ways of achieving my means, though they will be far less merciful than your blade. Think of your niece. You hold her life in your hands.”

  Mikkal steeled his heart and made a decision, his hand closing around the coin purse.

  Tomar

  Tomar smirked at the desert viper coiled just out of reach, it’s sleek, black scales glistening in the bright morning sun. Intelligent eyes tracked Tomar’s lithe movements as he paced outside of the den where a clutch of eggs lay buried in the sand to protect them from predators. Dinner, if he could get to them. His mouth watered as he thought about spreading the boiled eggs on some pakta and washing it all down with a jug of cucha. Eyes narrowed, he circled around the snake, waiting for his chance to strike.

  “Sir, would you like me to assist?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” He held up a hand in case Jamaal had any more heroic thoughts of helping. No, if anyone else tried to outwit the serpent, they would be planning a funeral, rather than a feast. Few others were as perfectly suited to this job as Tomar, and he knew this sleek beauty as well as any of his concubines.

  Sensing an opportunity, Tomar darted forward, grabbing the viper’s fat middle. Not fast enough. Fangs sank into his arm, pumping deadly venom into his veins.

  Jamaal sucked in a gasp, and Tomar couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his lips. His friend fussed more than an overprotective grandmother. Tomar ripped the viper from his arm and threw it across the sand, waving Jamaal forward to collect the eggs. The man hesitated for a moment, no doubt wanting to be sure that Tomar was okay, then knelt in the sand, digging in with his hands.

  “There are others who could do this job as well,” Jamaal said with no small amount of bite.

  “And let them have all the fun? I should think not.” Tomar smiled, flexing his fingers as the last of the venom was safely absorbed into his core.

  “It never gets easier, no matter how many times I watch you do that.”

  “Child’s play for a Venelo. Tamil was milking scorpions before he left his mother’s teat.” Tomar frowned at the growing number of eggs Jamaal was placing in the basket. “Only take half of the clutch. We need to leave some to hatch.”

  “Yes, Rei.”

  The sound of his title, now undisputed, brought a grin to his face. For the first time in years, Tomar could breathe easy. His sister was finally dead, thanks to the generosity of the Head Magi Cadmus, and Kearar was finally united under his rule. If he had known how painless it would be, he would have enlisted the help of the Order earlier.

  And what did it cost? Allowing some disciples to stay after the job was completed, plus a financial compensation that he would arrange at a later date. Nothing compared to the rewards he’d gained.

  Soft sand sank beneath his sandals as he walked along the edges of the Mubali Oasis, heading back to his tent. It was fast approaching midday, and the heat was becoming unbearable. Soon, his people would retreat to their tents for some relief from the punishing sun.

  The sound of shouting rose above the busy marketplace, followed by a clash of steel and a scream. Heated bartering was a common occurrence among the Kerani people when they haggled for the best prices, but outright violence was rare. Tomar gathered his suvali in his hand, lifting the hem so it didn’t catch on his sandals, and ran toward the source of the noise.

  When he arrived, a gray-robed disciple with a glowing sword—an Armis—stood over a Kerani guard who was clutching his leg. A dozen more guards, each carrying a two-pronged spear, pinned a group of disciples between the rows of colorful tents.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Tomar demanded in a tone that would send all but the weakest men to their knees. “Why are you attacking my guards?”

  “Your guards attacked us first,” the Armis replied, vanishing the sword. He spread his arms out in a nonthreatening manner and said, “We were simply defending ourselves.”

  “Why?”

  The group of disciples shifted, and Tomar’s heart stopped. A copper-haired disciple had his son, Tamil, locked in a firm grip.

  Eyes-wide, Tamil struggled in the disciple’s grasp.

  “Unhand my son at once!” Tomar charged forward with the force of a sandstorm, ready to t
ear the man apart with his bare hands and scatter his entrails across the desert. “What is the meaning of this? I’ve complied with everything the Order has asked.”

  Rather than release Tamil, the disciple’s grip tightened on his shoulder. “And to ensure your continued cooperation, we will be taking Tamil to Order Headquarters with us.”

  “Are you threatening me?” Tomar’s fists clenched and he took a menacing step forward. The venom beneath his skin flared, flowing through his bloodstream, just begging to be released. One touch and the man would feel as if he were being boiled alive.

  “Be at peace. He will be instructed as a novice, whole and unharmed.”

  The meaning, though unspoken, was clear. He would be treated well so long as Kearar obeyed.

  Tomar locked eyes with his son, giving him an almost imperceptible nod. Instantly, the panic cleared from the boy’s face. He reached up his hand and brushed it gently against the disciple’s wrist.

  “Now, you are welcome to send your concerns to Head Magi Cadm—” The disciple’s mouth pulled down in a frown. He lifted his wrist and his eyes rounded as realization dawned on his face. Purple webs snaked their way up his arm and he dropped to his knees, clawing his throat as a scream tore free. Foam bubbled to his lips. “Ven . . .e . . . lo . . .”

  The disciples moved to surround them, facing off against the guards that rushed forward. The Armis kicked Tamil, sending the boy to his knees. He reached his hand out to the side, manifesting a glowing sword that he rested at the base of Tamil’s neck. “Give him the antidote, or your son dies.”

  Fists clenched, Tomar released his hold on the venom, allowing the icy feeling of the antidote to replace the fire. Without a word, he walked forward and pressed his hand to the dying disciple’s throat. Beads of liquid formed on his skin, before being absorbed. “Done. Now give me my son.”